“What’s wrong with you” should inspire and delight you now. It should make you say, in a haughty tone back to its owner, nothing—I’m just perfect. Mother often asked me “what’s wrong with me,” as if
He (Trump) was fucking us all, and a lot of us seemed to understand it, but what was puzzling were the ones who seemed to like being fucked by this man. I do mean being fucked and with no lubrication
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